February

 It was my first winter back in New York after being in Europe for two years.  My mother was still working as a telephone operator for the New York Telephone Company.  It was February and you could tell that snow was about to fall. 

The supervisor called to ask my mother if she’d be willing to come in to work.  She explained that there were cots set up for the operators to sleep on.  They would work double shifts and relieve one another by rotating.  Dad was doing his best to talk her out of it.  “Elsa, you don’t have to go.  Let the younger women do it.”

“No, Louie, some have young children or live further away.  It’s important. People depend on us in an emergency especially if they’re alone or blind.  Sometimes we have to calm the public’s anxiety.”  He knew better than to try to dissuade her.

The train was four long city blocks from our door.  She started getting ready for her walk to the subway in a blizzard as the street was beginning to resemble a childhood fantasy land of white powder.  The time came for her to leave dressed in her black winter coat with the white fur collar.  She put on her cloche hat made of the same fur.  With her feet shod in warm winter boots, she was almost ready to brave it but not before she draped a wool shawl over her shoulders. 

I walked outside to see her off and wave good-bye.  She kissed my dad who was clearing the driveway and sidewalk of snow.  Step by step she marched surrounded by frigid air and an enormous drop cloth of white.  With each subsequent footfall, the large navy-blue shawl grew smaller and smaller until it was so remote that it resembled a dot floating in midair as snowflakes swirled about the dedicated and devoted employee answering the call of duty.

 

Yvonne A.

Feb. 2021